


Stuck With You, I'm Losing My Mind

by zams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-17
Updated: 2011-04-17
Packaged: 2017-10-18 06:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zams/pseuds/zams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It's all Potter's fault that Draco's stuck in St. Mungo's when he's perfectly healthy, so it's Potter's job to entertain him.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stuck With You, I'm Losing My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [H/D Shared Bed Fest](http://leo-draconis.livejournal.com/204874.html) for a prompt of "H/D having to share a bed in a completely overflowing St. Mungo's."
> 
> Thanks to **Taylor** and **Alissa** for beta'ing, and to fluffyfrolicker on LJ for a read through.

\---

"This is all your fault, Potter. Always have to be the bloody hero. Ridiculous." Draco punches the nearly flat pillow in an effort to fluff it and then lies back down, scowling.

"Ridiculous, huh?" Potter huffs. "Well, this 'bloody hero' saved your life, so some gratitude wouldn't be unwelcome. Might be nice actually."

Draco scoffs, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "Your head's big enough already, Potter; no need to stroke your own ego," he says. He looks around the tiny space in St. Mungo's and sighs.

"They were low-class thieves barely out of school," he grumbles, still trying to get comfortable. "All you 'saved' me from was a stinging hex and wounded pride, and somehow managed to hurt me _and_ yourself in the process."

How long have they been here anyway? Draco'd guess at least three hours. Three hours and not a peep. Their boss sent them to St. Mungo's after he was told about Potter's 'heroics' to make sure they didn't have concussions. Some catastrophe was going on–Draco didn't bother to find out what it was–, and so, not gushing blood or muttering incoherently, they were shoved into a partitioned 'room' that barely fit a twin bed in a large, open space and told to wait.

Potter immediately lay on the bed and made himself at home, while Draco paced, shooting glares at an entirely too comfortable Potter every now and then. But after a couple hours, Draco's fatigue caught up with him and he squeezed on the bed with Potter. So now they're lying on their sides, facing each other, so close they're practically sharing the same breath.

Intolerable.

Damn Potter.

Hmm. Draco cocks his head to the side and looks thoughtfully at him.

Draco'd be lying if he said he didn't have something of an attraction to Potter. It's embarrassing. Potter's irritating, a bumbling idiot, stupidly earnest, optimistic, nice...everything Draco's not, but apparently everything he wants, and Draco always wants to be near him.

If he doesn't start talking–about anything–he'll do something stupid, like ask Potter for a snog to pass the time. He's been thinking about kissing Potter increasingly frequently. Potter of all people! Draco's not supposed to feel that way about him.

But no matter how often he tells himself that, he catches himself staring at Potter's mouth several times a day, wondering if his lips are as soft as they look or if he tastes like the coffee he drinks all day.

All right, that's enough. He has to stop thinking about this. "Actually," he starts, "I think you've outdone yourself this time, Potter. You should be proud."

Draco inwardly smirks at the shocked look Potter gives him, eyes wide and incredulous behind his askew glasses and mouth hanging open. He looks so idiotic that Draco has to bite back a laugh. His traitorous mind, though, points out how easy it would be to just lean over and kiss that stupid look off Potter's face. Draco forces the thought away.

"Unbelievable. Just unbelievable," Potter finally says, shaking his head.

Draco counts that response as a win and moves on. "Why are we even here?" he says for about the fifth time. "I'm fine! If I'm stuck with you much longer, I really will need to be here. I still haven't decided if your idiocy is contagious."

Despite his feelings for Potter, baiting him is always amusing. It's been years, but Draco had so much practice from school that it's always easy to slip back into his old games of taunting Potter, minus the malice, of course.

"My idiocy isn't contagious!"

Draco chuckles quietly. Potter's so predictable. It's actually kind of endearing, in a way.

He waits for the proverbial light bulb to go off. One, two, three, and there it is: Potter flushes and averts his eyes.

"Dammit, Malfoy," he says. "I'm not an idiot."

"Oh, no?" Draco says, raising an eyebrow. "Could've fooled me."

"You know what?" Potter says. "I'm not even going to respond to that. We're here because we may have concussions, though with the way you're snarking, I doubt that's the case." He sits up then, moving to the end of the bed, and turns away from Draco, crossing his arms.

Draco rolls his eyes at Potter's dramatics. "Then get one of those bloody healers over here so I can leave! I have things to do."

"Oh, really?" Potter half turns his head. "Like what?"

Draco, in fact, has nothing to do other than feed his cat and sort his laundry, but that doesn't mean he's going to admit that to Potter. "Nothing that's any of your business."

Potter opens his mouth, but before he can speak, the partition opens and a woman pokes her head in the room.

"Finally!" Draco says. He sits up in the bed, left shoulder brushing Potter's as he sits just on the side of too close.

"I'm sorry, sir," the woman says, quickly walking over to the bed and pushing Draco back down on it. She motions for Harry to do the same, and reluctantly, he lies back down next to Draco.

"You both need to rest," the woman says. She reminds Draco of Madam Pomfrey - stern and unwilling to put up with nonsense. "All the healers are busy at the moment and we don't have any spare beds. You'll have to share and stay here until someone can look over you."

"But I'm fine! _We're_ fine, right, Potter?" Draco says, glancing over at Potter to demand back-up. It's what partners are for, right?

"I understand that you think you're fine, sir," the woman says, "but head injuries are serious, even with magic. You have to see a healer before you can leave. One will be in as soon as possible." With that, she turns on her heel and leaves before Draco can even open his mouth to respond.

Potter takes the chance to sit back up as far from Draco as possible. That's fine with him. He rolls on his back, spreading out in case Potter thinks about changing his mind, and stares up at the ceiling. "Fuck."

"Sorry, Malfoy. Looks like you're stuck with me for a little while longer."

"Joy," Draco deadpans, covering his face with his hands. This is terrible. He's been with Potter all day and now who knows how long they'll be here! He's not sure he can keep from jumping Potter for much longer. Weeks of suppressing attraction have frayed Draco's nerves.

There's a pause, and then Potter says, "It's not that bad, is it?"

His tone catches Draco's interest. He looks over at Potter, and then wishes he didn't. Draco can only see his profile, but that's more than enough to tell him that Potter's wearing his 'wounded puppy' expression. Draco's sure it's unintentional–most things with Potter are–, but he couldn’t look more pathetic if he tried.

It tugs at the heartstrings Draco wishes he didn't have; his life would be much less complicated. "Come on, Potter, quit with that. You know I cherish your company. If I didn't, would I have lasted this long as your partner?"

That gets a smile out of Potter, and Draco heaves a mental sigh of relief. Crisis avoided. The fact that his chest felt tight when he was looking at Potter's depressed face and that the ache didn't go away until Potter smiled means nothing. _Nothing_.

"I guess not," Potter says. He shifts and fully faces Draco. "I like being your partner, too, Malfoy, even when you're an arse, which is most of the time."

Things are getting a little too sappy for Draco's taste (or so he tells himself), and he doesn’t like how he's feeling right now: jittery and uncomfortable, but content to be trading quips with Potter.

Time to change tactics. Potter's always easy to bemuse. "...Have you been looking at my arse? I know it's an exceptional arse, but Potter, if you have, you need to stop."

Potter doesn't seem to know what to say to that and Draco mentally logs another win. Nothing is more amusing to Draco than a confused Potter.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Potter eventually asks. "You're acting more absurd than usual."

"I'm fine." Draco wriggles around, trying to get comfortable. The bed is horrible: lumpy, tiny, and Potter-fied. "Ugh. I need more room."

"More room? Malfoy-,"

Draco ignores him and interrupts. "Shove over," he says, sitting up and pushing at Potter's chest.

"Hey!" Potter protests, batting Draco's hands away. "Watch it! I'm already on the edge, Malfoy. If I shove over anymore, I'll fall on the floor."

"Really?" Draco's face lights up. "Perfect," he says, and he pushes at Potter again.

Draco catches him off guard, and Potter tumbles off the bed and onto the floor. Unfortunately for Draco, Potter's arms shoot out and grab him, sending Draco crashing down with him.

Potter lands on his back, and even though it's only a couple feet, Draco's sure it hurt, especially since Draco's sprawled over Potter's chest. Heat rushes to Draco's face from being pressed against Potter's unfortunately attractive body.

Draco pushes himself up to sit on Potter's stomach, his hands resting on Potter's chest. His fingers itch to feel up the muscles he can feel through Potter's jumper.

Potter's staring up at him, silent, and it's unnerving, yet oddly familiar. Draco's caught Potter staring at him with a considering expression on his face several times in the past few weeks, and right now, he's wearing the same expression. The gleam in his eyes makes Draco's heart race in a way that's not entirely unpleasant.

Draco clears his throat in an effort to regain his composure. "Nice going, Potter," he says. "You must really be going for the gold today."

Potter doesn't say anything, just continues to stare at Draco. More heat fills Draco's cheeks. He tells himself he doesn’t like it, being the recipient of that intense stare, but he really does because it's _Potter_ , and that is annoying in and of itself - why has Potter always had the ability to command Draco's attention? It's not right!

Even more annoying is that when Potter looks at him like this, Draco would swear he wants to kiss him, and that notion always leaves Draco in a jumbled mess the rest of the day.

Draco moves to get up, but Potter's arms go around him, one behind his back and the other cupping his head, and he can't move.

Draco's amazed at Potter's audacity. "Unhand me, Potter, right now, or else I'll really make sure you have a nice, long stay at St. Mungo's." If he doesn't, Draco won't be able to stop himself from kissing him, and that could be a very bad decision.

Potter, the ever-infuriating bastard, ignores him. "You know, Draco," he says softly (and Draco can't hold back the silent gasp at the use of his first name – it sounds practically indecent the way Potter says it, like something sinful and alluring), "you're really pretty when you blush."

With that one sentence, Potter shocks him into silence. He doesn't know what to feel: pleased that Potter finds him attractive, or angry that the only adjective Potter can come up with is 'pretty.'

Still very aware of their current position, the fingers currently stroking over the nape of his neck, and the warmth radiating from Potter, Draco lets the anger win out. "You have some blasted nerve."

Potter narrows his eyes. "You're nothing but nerve," he counters. "I should have done this months ago."

Draco's suddenly aware that something's different: Potter's not backing down. He's challenging Draco right now to acknowledge the tension between them, to finally _do_ something about it instead of pretending there's nothing between them, and Draco's not sure he's ready for that.

He goes on the defensive. "Done what? Groped me like some animal?"

"Oh, please, Malfoy," Potter says. "Spare me the theatrics. I know you well enough by now to know you don't really have an objection to being on top of me."

This is really bad; Potter's a stubborn arse, and he's not going to let this go. It's inevitable; something has to give, and it'll probably be Draco. But still. No harm in delaying it. "You're delusional, Potter. I don't like this." He wriggles around, making a show of it. "You're holding me prisoner!"

Draco's lying. He hasn't liked something this much since he saw Potter sweaty and flushed after an impromptu Quidditch game. He prays Potter doesn't call his bluff. But really. He probably already knows; it's completely unacceptable that Potter turned out to be so perceptive when it comes to him.

"You could get away if you wanted to," is all Potter says. "And even though I don't think you do, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. So there." Potter releases him, resting his weight on his forearms and watching Draco with hooded eyes.

"You want to get away from me so badly? Then go. I'll stay down here and let you have the bed to yourself, and we'll never talk about this again. But," he says, cutting off Draco's immediate retort, "I'm tired of the games. I'm done with them. If you stay here, that's it. I'm going to kiss you and I guarantee it'll be the _best_ kiss you've ever had."

Draco sneers, but it only causes Potter's challenging smirk to widen. "I doubt it'll be the best kiss I've ever had, Potter," he says, but he doesn't move. His eyes lock on Potter's lips, plump and tempting, and Draco realizes he can't delude himself and make excuses anymore: he wants that kiss just as much as he wants Potter himself. He has for months.

Dammit.

It's painful to admit.

He holds out for longer than he thought he would–all of ten seconds–, and then he leans forward, hovering over Potter's stupid, smirking face. He scowls at him. "Don't get any ideas," he hisses. "I just want to prove you wrong. This doesn't mean I like you or anything."

"Whatever you say, Malfoy," Potter says, smiling, and Draco kisses him to shut him up. Who knew Potter's so arrogant?

Potter's arms go back around him, cradling him like he's something precious, and he kisses Draco tenderly, almost languidly, completely different from what Draco expected. He thought Potter would kiss like he goes through life–forcefully, commandingly, and a little sloppily. As it is, Draco's unable to do anything but relax into the sweet kiss, opening up to both it and Potter under his gentle coaxing.

Draco realizes that it _is_ the best kiss he's ever had, and it doesn't surprise him as much as he expected. It's Potter, after all, and he can never do anything half-arse.

Potter pulls away, and Draco will deny the tiny whine that escapes him until his dying day. He chases Potter's lips. He wants another kiss, and Draco always gets what he wants.

"Potter," he says warningly. "Kiss me."

"I knew you'd be demanding," Potter says with a laugh.

He still doesn't kiss him, and the amusement Draco hears in his voice makes Draco's temper spike.

"I just want to say," Potter starts, "that you may not like me, but _I_ like _you_."

The last words are whispered into Draco's ear, Potter's warm breath sending a shiver through Draco.

Draco grabs Potter's head and looks him in the eyes. Potter always wears his feelings on his sleeve, and right now is no different. He's letting Draco see all his emotions, so freely baring all his feelings, and it's humbling.

Draco brings his lips to Potter's again, so close they're almost touching. "Of course you do, Potter," he says softly, eyes searching Potter's. He hopes Potter understands what he's not saying, what he _can't_ say aloud right now.

After a beat of silence, Potter smiles, and Draco nearly sags in relief. He gives Potter a smile in return and then kisses him again.

The second kiss is just as good as the first, if not better, and Draco relishes in the feel of Potter's strong arms around him and Potter's tongue in his mouth doing sinful things.

It's good. Better than good. Amazing, even.

Draco's fingers tangle in Potter's messy hair, angling his face just so. One kiss turns into another and another, and Draco just holds on, enjoying every second.

As long as he gets to kiss Potter any time he wants (and make sure no one else does), Draco supposes he can deal with Potter's special brand of idiocy. Someone has to, after all. He'll take one for the team; he's generous like that.

\---

Ten minutes later, Ron rips the partition open and rushes in the 'room' the receptionist told him to go to.

"Harry?" he asks anxiously, eyes wide. "What happened? Are you okay…"

Ron's words trail off when his eyes fall on Harry, who's lying on the floor with _Draco Malfoy_ on top of him, both of them half undressed and frantically snogging. His eyes widen, and he takes a step back, feeling faint.

"Ron?" Hermione comes up behind him. "What's wrong? Is Harry okay?"

"I'd say he's okay," Ron chokes out, stepping aside so Hermione can see Harry and Malfoy.

"Oh, my," she gasps as she peers at them. "That's... not really surprisingly, actually."

"What?" Ron says, whipping around to face Hermione. "It's Harry and _Malfoy_! How is that not surprising?"

"Ron," Hermione says, voice calm and soft in the way he's learned she uses when she thinks he's being obtuse, "repeat that sentence to yourself one more time."

Ron gives her a dubious look, but he does it anyway. It does seem less surprising to him the second time, he has to admit, grudgingly.

"Excuse me," the irritated voice of Malfoy interrupts them.

Ron and Hermione both turn to him. Malfoy's trying to look angry, Ron thinks, but really, his eyes are glazed over and his face is relaxed and flushed, so it's hard to take his tone seriously.

Ron feels himself blushing at the intimate sight.

"Kindly _get out_. We're busy, as you can see."

"Yeah, we can see that, Malfoy," Ron snaps at the same time Hermione grabs his arm and drags him outside the room.

"We'll just be going," Hermione says. "Tell Harry we were here when you give him a break, will you?"

She closes the partition without waiting for Malfoy to answer and they're silent for a moment, Ron scowling at the partition like it personally insulted him.

He glances at Hermione and she's beaming like everything is perfect and happy, and then Ron sighs the sigh of the completely and always put upon. "Well, I guess Malfoy's coming to dinner on Thursday with Harry then." Resistance is futile. Besides, from what he could tell, Harry seemed happy, and that's all that matters to Ron. He's still slightly irritated that it's Malfoy that makes Harry happy, though. Of course it had to be Malfoy.

"Yes, I'd say he will be," Hermione says, her smile wide and bright. "Harry's fine. More than fine, it seems. We'll visit him tonight."

Ron's not so sure about that. He glances back at the partition thoughtfully. "Maybe we'll visit Harry tomorrow." Malfoy didn't seem like he was planning on letting Harry go anytime soon.

Malfoy suddenly moans loud enough to clearly be heard in the outer room and probably in the other private 'rooms.' "Hmmm, Harry. That feels good."

Ron colors, embarrassed. "And that's our cue to leave," he says, taking Hermione's hand and tugging her toward the exit. "Right now. Maybe we'll visit Harry next week."

That'll be safer for Ron's state of mind. There's only so much he wants to know about his best friend and even less he wants to know about Malfoy. He thinks they'll appreciate his thoughtfulness and discretion.

 

  
**END**   



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